Category: ff2011

You’re Not Like The Other Girls Chrissy [FringeTIX]

Caroline Horton @ Holden Street Theatres – The Arch

1:00pm, Sat 19 Feb 2011

A young French woman, Christiane, bumbles in from the back of The Arch, carrying a set of suitcases. She struggles onto the stage, dropping them in front of a pale French flag; there’s a blast of français over the loudspeaker that establishes the location: Gare du Nord, one of the large Parisian railway stations. Christiane is waiting for a train to take her to England, to be re-united with her fiancée; it is 1945.

Christiane initially addresses the small crowd (of around a dozen) in French; I pick up enough words to get the gist, but there’s a lot of muttering behind me as friends translate for other friends. Eventually, Christiane queries “oh – you speek Eengleesh?”, and things become much easier to follow – albeit with a delicious French accent.

Christiane tells a simple tale, with a curious beginning: to prevent her deteriorating eyes from becoming worse, she is sent from her familial home in the Parisian suburbs to live in England for awhile, where – due to a feeble grip on the language – she could not spend all her time simply reading. There, at a tennis club (with a gorgeous recollection of the game – *pof*), she meets her beau-to-be, Cyril; she later returns to France, invites him to visit, and he requests her hand in marriage of her father.

Soon after Cyril returns to England, war breaks out; suddenly, their communications become sporadic, and at one point Cyril even releases Christiane from their engagement… only to recant the release in numerous later letters. When the Germans seize Paris, Christiane flees the city, and she tells of her attempts to help the Red Cross, in order to get access to rare telegram privileges; she eventually returns to Paris, battles with bureaucrats in order to get permission to go to England to marry Cyril, leading us chronologically to the opening moment of the performance. As she boards the train to England, the lights drop and we’re shown a collection of photos and home movies of Christiane and Cyril’s marriage, their children, and… their grandchildren.

Including a very familiar granddaughter pushing Christiane around Paris in a wheelchair.

And it’s only then that I realise what a personal performance this is for Caroline Horton, who only lost her grandmother Christiane earlier this year. I really should read the show notes more carefully.

Caroline is a terrific performer; she owns the stage without being domineering, and her accent and mannerisms reminded me of my French neighbour – perfect. Whilst it’s a relatively simple production, the physical performance is textured by some clever props that appear from her suitcases – pop-up cityscapes and radios – and some glorious little personal touches: as she mimes a rowing expedition, Caroline’s (actually, they were Christiane’s) bracelets clink together softly as her arms move back and forth.

You’re Not Like The Other Girls Chrissy is a beautiful, funny, and – at times – touching piece of theatre, performed by a wonderful actress with great engagement of the audience. I can only hope that the “crowd” this afternoon is not indicative of the rest of Caroline’s run, because it really does deserve a wider audience.

Santoni Cabaretoni [FringeTIX]

Dr Brown, Stuart Bowden, Vachel Spirason, Telia Nevile, Granny Flaps @ The Tuxedo Cat – Red Room

11:30pm, Fri 18 Feb 2011

Five bucks late at night almost guarantees a full Red Room, with its comfy pews; people were standing in the aisle, in the doorway, trying to get a peek at what madness was going to spill forth from Dr Brown’s cabaret variety show. “Variety show,” of course, is code for “artists performing snippets of their shows in hope that you’ll come along to see the whole thing.” Which is sweet when it works, and potentially jarring when it doesn’t.

Dr Brown, though, appears to need no introduction; many a whisper is heard in TuxCat’s halls professing love for the bushy-bearded fellow. I’d bumped into him earlier in the evening, and he recognised me from last year; “are you coming tonight?” he had asked. “Yes,” I’d replied, “but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drag me on stage.” He grinned.

No problems there, though – there was precious little audience interaction (at least, none that was significantly embarrassing). As the host, Dr Brown was first onstage in an elegant blue kimono – performing some invisible puppetry. The physical nature of Brown’s performance is superb, creating a very real sense of the two marionettes he was “controlling” – and his repeated movements as he commanded them to engage in nefarious sexual acts (accompanied by trembling phantom anticipation in his own face) was just divine.

Stuart Bowden, one of The Lounge Room Confabulators, performed a very Confabulator-y story; this was followed by a fantastic reverse-strip tease by Vachel Spirason… appearing wearing nothing but a red g-string, he tossed clothes out into the crowd and then started a strip-dance… summoning the clothes back from the crowd in order, he ended the dance fully clothed. Absolutely brilliant.

Dr Brown returned wearing nothing but a Starbucks apron, and again his refined performance skills were sublime as he took orders from the audience, ever-so-subtly wagging his finger with disappointment at some of the requests. The skit ends when he bends over, flashing his scrotum to the crowd, before introducing Telia Nevile – who performed the initially twee (but ultimately terrifying) poem The Darkness Within. This woman has the most amazing voice – she utterly won me over.

More Dr Brown silliness as he appeared wearing a kabuki mask, his beard spilling around the sides; “it’s me,” he surprised. And then Granny Flaps was the last guest of the evening, and started a little flat before getting the crowd involved with a singalong. Dr Brown, clad in bunny ears, wrapped the show up.

This edition of Santoni Cabaretoni was a bloody hoot, I must say. Whilst there were no real Shortlist-changing surprises in there, it provided a solid hour of freakshow entertainment; for five dollars, how could you go wrong? This, along with Marcel Lucont’s chat show, could be the perfect wrap-up of any day’s Fringing.

Marcel Lucont Etc. – A Chat Show [FringeTIX]

Marcel Lucont (aka Alexis Dubus), with Mark Trenwith & Abigoliah Schaumaun @ The Tuxedo Cat – Blue Room

10:00pm, Fri 18 Feb 2011

OK – so, yet again, I don’t read the Guide properly… I get as far as “Marcel Lucont”, and I scribbled a big star on the page and tapped all the relevant times into my spreadsheet, completely ignoring the “Chat Show” part of the show title.

And it’s an important part of the title, because Marcel Lucont Etc. is – indeed – a chat show, with two guests each night (and, hopefully, a cabaret snippet to round out the evening).

Marcel Lucont is his usual haughty self, mocking the crowd in general for their lack of verbal engagement, reading a snippet of his poetry, and pulling out the same old Marcel Lucont jokes before introducing Mark Trenwith.

Trenwith, as the very first of Lucont’s guests for the year, looked completely out of place in the interviewee’s chair. Lucont’s questions – targeting the most embarrassing thing you’ve put in your mouth, or the most bizarre sexual experience, that sort of thing – didn’t really to offer Trenwith much to work with, though once he admitted to being a bit of a pornophobe the conversation (and mockery) loosened up a bit and everyone seemed a little more at ease. A few plugs for Mark’s shows – Ghost Sharks! and Mr Snot-Bottom’s Stinky Silly Show – allowed additional humour, with mention made of the recent local shark attacks (“any publicity is good publicity,” quipped Lucont) along with accusations of potential paedophilia. Fun stuff indeed, and rounded off with a stare-off between Lucont and Trenwith – Mark lasted a mere 25 seconds.

Abigoliah Schaumaun seemed much more at home sitting across from Lucont, stealing his wine and drinking from the bottle, performing back stretches in her real-life Bikram instructor guise (as also portrayed in her show, Fabulous Abs). Completely unfazed by Lucont’s questions, even managing to cause his normally aloof demeanour to break a little with the mention of a little menstrual blood episode, she was an absolute delight – and hopefully convinced a few people to check out her show. Her attempt in the stare-off also lasted 25 seconds.

Finally, Miss Tinkle and Mr Plonk from Circus Trick Tease performed a snippet of balance and strength work – which was absolutely bloody amazing within the confined space of the Blue Room, with Plonk unable to lift Tinkle to maximum extension due to the roof. Brilliant stuff, and a wonderful end to the show.

This format is utterly perfect for the Marcel Lucont character – his thirty-minute show was absolutely magnificent, but the stretch to a full hour of solo material felt a little bit forced. Here, though, the quick-witted Dubus can play with the character, mixing the mannerisms which make Lucont such a delicious proposition with the personalities of his guests – and that makes for addictive viewing.

It’s pretty easy to tell that this will be one of the go-to shows of the Fringe; the type of show where I’d be happy to see a gap in that 10pm timeslot, in order to sneak in another glimpse of Marcel’s interviewing (and staring) action. And, given the near-capacity crowd tonight (thirty-ish – nearly all of them Marcel Lucont virgins), it’s going to be a pretty hot ticket – Saturday night’s show was sold out. And I would’ve given an arm and a leg to see Sunday night’s show (with Dave Callan and Stevl Shefn & Fatima).

Guest lineups are published here.

Adolf [FringeTIX]

Pip Utton @ Royalty Theatre

8:00pm, Fri 18 Feb 2011

Hiding away from the Parade side of the city, I thought it advantageous to catch the opening performance of Adolf; “that’s not like you,” said Guy Masterson when I saw him out the front of the Royalty, “picking up Preview tickets.”

Hey – whatever makes it fit :)

It’s certainly a provocative entrance to the Royalty – tall, long, red drapes with the unmistakable black-on-white swastika in the centre, in amongst the plush velour of the stage surrounds. As the house lights drop, the central swastika remains brightly lit and lingers a moment, before fading and allowing Pip Utton to take to the stage in darkness. The highlight almost feels like a dare; a challenge.

Set inside the Führer’s bunker just prior to his suicide, the staging is simple; the drapes, a desk, a chair. Utton initially sits at the desk, thumping it, enraged; it’s an image immediately familiar to anyone who has seen any of the Downfall meme videos on YouTube. And the first “act” of Adolf is very episodic; a chunk of internal monologue, as Hitler muses on his manipulations and abuse of power, followed by a scene where he speaks to his confidantes, his minions, his followers. Rinse, repeat.

The public-facing rhetoric is wonderfully done – these pieces always begin with really uplifting sentiments, ideas that you feel comfortable getting behind… before drifting into the xenophobic rantings which left me shuddering. But it’s the contrast between the internal and external monologues which impresses the most, with overt contradictions a-plenty – to his followers, Hitler assures that he has never broached any international agreement; internally, he muses “promises are for publication, not fulfilment”. The will of the people is also used as an assurance, and laughed off as a ploy.

The direction during this first act is magnificent, with Utton’s pacing and rage tempered and released with great timing. In his final hours, there’s some spectacular lighting where a low spotlight catches Hitler sitting at the desk and frames the shadow perfectly within the bounds of one of the swastika drapes, and there’s a fantastic echoing effect when Utton stands at the front of the stage, creating the impression that he’s delivering his dialogue to a teeming stadium of supporters. And Utton himself is utterly brilliant in his odd role. It’s all rather lovely…

…until the Fourth Wall breaks.

The second (much shorter) “act” is essentially a spoken word piece, where Utton drops out of character and freely ambles the stage, cracking jokes and conversing with the audience, whilst idly chatting about world affairs. This chat is really interesting in that it very much mirrors Hitler’s approach to his speeches; start with the reasonable and enthusiastic ideas, then drop in the hatred, the bigotry. Talk about the wonders of modern life, then toss in some anti-immigration, anti-terrorist bile. And, whilst there’s a feeling that this is all very clever, and very tongue-in-cheek, it also feels somewhat misdirected and confused; worse still, it makes me feel like I’m being lectured to. I’m being talked down to.

And – even more galling – that I’m not being credited with the intelligence to ascertain this information from the first “act” myself.

And I really, really don’t like that in my theatre.

There’s something deeply ironic about having an Englishman – and unfettered English accent – play Hitler; that decision, coupled with the excellent production of the performance, makes Adolf thoroughly worth viewing. But the rambling second act really put me off, and actually had me leaving the performance a little bit angry… having said that, I’ve since talked to people who had exactly the opposite reaction to me (hated the first act, loved the second), and those who were moved to tears by the second act. Looks like it’s just me with the problem, then.

Steve Sheehan’s – A Little Horseplay [FringeTIX]

Steve Sheehan @ The Tuxedo Cat – Yellow Room Main Bar

6:30pm, Fri 18 Feb 2011

Just for something a little bit different, I’m going to put in my “conclusion” paragraph first – because, if you were somewhat inattentive (as I was) when reading all the publicity associated with Horseplay, there’s spoilers a-plenty ahead. So…

Steve Sheehan is the quintessential quiet surrealist. With a style that is so gentle and considered that it accentuates the bizarre nature of his comedic creations, A Little Horseplay is an utterly addictive vignette. But it is most definitely a work in progress; indeed, Sheehan provides a mobile number in order for the audience to SMS any show ideas or suggestions. It will be very interesting to see how it develops from here.

Right. So… spoilers ahead!

There’s a horse in this show. A fucking horse. Now – the postcard flyers and the Guide explicitly mention Arapahoe the mini-horse; but for some reason I completely ignored those words, or assumed that they were referring to the horse-head mask that Sheehan has been wearing in gigs occasionally. And I really should have known that something was up when the TuxCat StairGuardGirl told me that Sheehan’s show wasn’t in the Yellow Room, as indicated by the ticket, but in the Main Bar area instead – “because of the horse.”

See, I thought she was just taking the piss.

Not so.

Sheehan and mezzo-soprano Norma Knight appear with a set of Dylan-esque cards, each bearing part of a “translation” of an opera being played in the background. The words are utter nonsense, and the occasional profanity has Sheehan turning to the children in the crowd and very carefully – almost imperceptibly – shaking his head in responsible guidance. Just the very nature of his movements is funny.

And then a door opens… and Arapahoe the mini-horse clops in.

Now, the horse doesn’t really do anything – it just wanders along, nibbling at the food trail that’s been left on the floor, and stamping the odd cardboard box left in its path. But it’s a horse – and in this context, it’s utterly bizarre. The horse is lead out again, and Sheehan sits at a keyboard and plays some Liszt whilst telling a quiet – and nonsensical – numbers joke. A bit of Wagner with Knight singing, some horse-head mask antics (trying to stuff the microphone in the mask’s mouth was hilarious), and Arapahoe returns – while Sheehan and Knight sing Lou Reed’s Perfect Day.

It’s all quite surreal.

Sheehan’s been playing silly buggers with Fringe norms for years; earlier shows have had listed curious running times of “27 minutes”, and been staged in quiet venues like the SA Writer’s Centre. This year – besides having a horse in the show, his jape is escalating the price of tickets – from $3 at the start of the season, to a more typical $18 by the end. One might argue that’s fair enough, given the evolving nature of the show; but this $5 night I was very well populated and, even if people left with glazed eyed and confused expressions, word-of-mouth will quickly spread about this show. After all, it’s got a horse.

Rhino Room Late Show [FringeTIX]

Lindsay Webb, Dave Thornton, Trevor Crook, Andrew O’Neill, Alan Anderson, Janey Godley, Jacques Barrett @ Rhino Room – Upstairs

11:00pm, Thu 17 Feb 2011

In the past I’ve shied away from shows like this, preferring to see performers in their full shows; with the sheer numbers of acts that I’d genuinely like to see filling up my Shortlist, however, it’s almost become necessary to leverage these gigs as a means of giving the artists the attention (I think) they deserve.

Lindsay Webb was the emcee for the evening, which thrilled me no end. I saw a snippet of his main act a couple of years ago and had failed to be blown away; as an emcee last year, though, he was bloody brilliant, and he carried that form with him tonight. He’s amazingly quick on his feet, and – as befits his show this Fringe – quite the punster.

I’d only seen the first act, Dave Thornton, once before (coincidentally, the same gig I first saw Webb), and thought he was solid, without being exceptional. And he brings forth a few laughs tonight, and no cringes – but not enough to have me thinking “I must see this man’s full show.” But if he’s in town between Fringes, I’ll be checking him out.

After seeing his impromptu drunken cameo in Tony Roberts’ show the other night, I was keen to see Trevor Crook’s standup for the first time. And he is bloody brilliant – completely unassuming and laid-back (yet extraordinarily keen to get onstage, peeking through the curtains during his intro), he just delivers the joke and lets you laugh. Uncomplicated and very funny, with constant references to his gigs in a mosque, a lebanese restaurant, a monastery… and, in signing off, he quips “I don’t have a show or nothing, but I’ll be at The Bakery on O’Connell Street tomorrow morning. There won’t be any comedy – just a scroll – but you’re welcome to come along.” Brilliant, and I’ll be keeping my eye out for him in the future.

Andrew O’Neill rounded out the first half of The Late Show, jet-lagged as he was; he resorted to a lot more of his gloriously silly non sequitur sing-song bits than I’d seen in the past, but that’s just fine by me; he really is a bloody funny bugger. Can’t wait to see his show this year.

I was thrilled to see that Alan Anderson was on tonight’s Late Show list; Jon Brooks had recommended him to me a couple of months ago and, having seen this footage on YouTube (and struggling to understand a single fucking word) I was genuinely looking forward to checking his show out. However, this short snippet put the dampener on that enthusiasm – apart from the great accent and occasional Scottish mannerism, there wasn’t a whole lot of compelling ideas or laughter there. A massive shame.

His compatriot Janey Godley, on the other hand, was an absolute revelation. Very angry, very filthy (more c-bombs per minute than any other comic I’ve ever seen, I reckon), and constantly apologising to her daughter in the crowd for talking about her father’s boudoir talents, she earned herself a place on the Shortlist – topping it off with a hilarious description of her venue. Fantastic.

Jacques Barrett had the unfortunate task of following Godley, and bemoaned that fact until he found his feet. But he won the crowd over with his imitation of the dolphin-girls of Sydney, which is absolutely top-notch material… and he endeared himself to me when, struggling to find a segment to talk about, he called on his friends in the crowd: “support crew: what should I do?” A brief pause, then the reply comes in: “Goldfish.” Quick as a flash, Barrett shook his head. “Nah – wouldn’t work…” and kicked into some other material. That little exchange made him seem all the more human to me, and certainly didn’t harm his Shortlist status.

As I said at the top of this post, I used to minimise the number of these compendium gigs I attended; but if every one was as strong as this one, I’d be seeing a lot more. Fantastic entertainment.

An Evening with Style & Panache [FringeTIX]

Dave Bloustien & Lliam Amor (featuring Amanda Buckley) @ The Tuxedo Cat – Yellow Room

7:30pm, Thu 17 Feb 2011

I was unsure about what to expect from this show, though as a “discerning chap” I was clearly attracted by the Guide blurb. And I knew that Lliam Amor did some work in Shaun Micallef’s most wonderful The Micallef P(r)ogram(me), and Dave Bloustien’s name rang a bell.

There’s a voiceover at the top of the performance in the form of an airplane safety recording; it’s quite clever and raised expectations. But as soon as Evelyn Style (Bloustien) and Rodger Panache (Amor) take to the stage, bold spectacles and English awkwardness, there’s quips about the venue: the daylight coming through the large windows scuppers their lighting plans, but provides them with the opportunity to punctuate every skit with a pantomimic call of “blackout”. And, with barely a titter from the baker’s dozen of assembled punters (at least three of which were media), they launched into their first sketch (with the help of the delightful Amanda Buckley).

And their sketches are quite variable in quality; the opening BBQ scene seems to have no real purpose (other than to declare that “tofu is murder” – yes, yes it is), and the Gentleman’s Club sketch is also pretty grim. But the Stakeout is pretty amusing, and Bloustien’s solo tale about Tutankhamun’s cock being found in a thrift store was strangely compelling.

Sitting in the front row (I like to try and encourage the performers if I can), my life was called upon as inspiration for their improvisational “Make’ems” segment; as with most improv, a fair chunk of the humour comes from the unexpected turns and resultant stumbles that are made on the fly. However, having seen the Whose Line Is It Anyway? guys the previous evening, this effort felt flat by comparison.

As mentioned before, the ambient light was an issue – but the “blackout” calls often offered more humour than the skits they ended. The stage, too, was a bit of a concern for them, lifting a bit under their weight and slapping back onto the supports beneath quite alarmingly. It’s early days yet, of course, but the venue can’t really excuse Style & Panache‘s lack of preparation; they ran over ten minutes short, and struggled with some of the material they did have.

This Is What We Do For A Living [FringeTIX]

Tumble Circus @ AC Arts – Main Theatre

6:00pm, Thu 17 Feb 2011

I often wonder who turns up on the opening nights of shows like this; shows that promise spectacle for a pittance, in a venue that must cost an arm and a leg. Shows that rely heavily on word-of-mouth, because advertising isn’t going to cut it. Where does the word-of-mouth come from?

Well, people like me turn up. The curious, the nearby. Students, friends. Other carnies. A somewhat surprising number of people. AC Arts attendees trickle in throughout the show.

Taking my position halfway up the Main Theatre’s Cliff of Seating, I realise what a great venue for circus acts this is; the steep incline of the seating creates a great sense of verticality. The trapeze looks above the tiny cushion-littered mattress in the middle of the stage.

After an intro music selection of John Peel countdowns, Tina Machina and Ken Evil wander onto the stage with a hint of coyness; when they look at each other, they manage to convey a sickly-sweet cutesy passion. And they begin to tell the story of how they met on the streets of Dublin; critiquing each other’s juggling skills, they formed Tumble Circus and have worked together since.

Throughout the ensuing narrative (tales of travel and adventure, sprinkled with typical boy/girl conflict), they intersperse their circussy tricks: balance acts, hoops, juggling, free-rope, trapeze. Ken’s strength and balance was tremendous, and the delicacy of his courtship with a member of the audience (as he repeatedly plucked flowers from the top of the free rope) was delightful.

Tina, it has to be said, had a bit of an off night. A fair few of her hoop tricks went awry, and her balance seemed to desert her for awhile. In fact, when they started doing the trapeze tricks I was a little bit worried that something terrible might happen; luckily, that work went off without a hitch… and was really thrilling, a bunch of tightly packed tricks as they clambered and swung their bodies around high above the floor, engaging in amusing faux conflict up high that would be missed if watching from the floor. They also shared a spill or two in the juggling; but the mistakes are always handled graciously, with a rueful look to the audience or a mocking nod from their partner. Tina’s eyes surely won a lot of admirers.

I’d be flat-out lying if I said that this is the best circus that I’ve seen this year. If you wanted that sense of spectacle, go check out Tom Tom Crew or even Cantina (disclaimer: don’t bother seeing Cantina, they probably don’t need your money). But what This Is What We Do For A Living does have is a bit of heart, a sly-but-friendly wink, with its attempt at a narrative structure.

And there is a curious ending, with Tina and Ken engaging in a pillow fight with the audience. Odd, fun, and most of all… charming.